


Everything Seems A Little Bit Sweeter

by bourgeois, rafaelbaseball



Series: Sonny Side Up 'verse [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bourgeois/pseuds/bourgeois, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rafaelbaseball/pseuds/rafaelbaseball
Summary: Rita takes a delicate sip before pointedly saying, “You're playing hooky so you can get an autograph from a YouTube celebrity halfway across town.”Rafael tries to stare her down, but she only stares back at him over the rim of her cup. Eventually he deflates and looks away, defeated.Okay, so he might have a problem.-Or: The one where Sonny is a YouTube chef and Rafael is just a little bit in love with him.





	Everything Seems A Little Bit Sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> _It's done_. [rafaelbaseball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rafaelbaseball) and I have been planning this 'verse for upwards of two months, and it's finally in motion. The idea and planning is thanks to me, the lovely words and warm feeling you get when you read it is all thanks to her. There will be multiple, interlinked but non-chronological parts posted sporadically in the future.
> 
> Title from Rufus Wainwright's [Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5CLmflrwIA)

“I think you might have a problem,” Rita tells him as he's shrugging on his coat, perched comfortably on his couch even as he makes a point to show her he’s leaving.

He grabs his briefcase from under his desk and throws her a particularly devastating eye roll. “I don't have a _problem_.”

Rita gets up from the couch and heads over to his coffeemaker. Rafael glares at her as she takes her sweet time filling her cup, then dumping in her usual alarming amount of sugar packets. 

Rita takes a delicate sip before pointedly saying, “You're playing hooky so you can get an autograph from a YouTube celebrity halfway across town.”

Rafael tries to stare her down, but she only stares back at him over the rim of her cup. Eventually he deflates and looks away, defeated.

Okay, so he might have a problem. 

A problem in the form of thirty-something YouTube celebrity chef—and owner of the half the world’s dimple reserves—Sonny Carisi, also known as _Sonny Side Up_. It’s a secret, guilty pleasure that is not as much a secret as he’d originally thought, but twice as guilty and much more pleasurable. 

Besides, he shouldn’t have to feel guilty. Sometimes, after a long day dealing with bureaucratic posturing and the scum of NYC, it was nice to go home to a dimpled smile informing him of the variety of uses of compressed yeast. Where was the harm in that?

“I'm not playing _hooky_.” He scoffs indignantly, because he's _not_. He's taking a long lunch. At least that's what he told Carmen to tell the DA if she stopped by. “There are other ADAs in this building, no one will miss me.”

Rita pins him with an unimpressed look. “We had a meeting, Barba.”

“So _you'll_ miss me. Still not that big of a loss.” He grabs a handful of papers from his desks and starts to arrange them in some semblance of order. “Besides, I told you I was going to be out today.”

“No, you didn't. You said you might be busy with a client and that I should think of rescheduling. You were too much of a coward to tell me you were going to go embarrass yourself in front of an internet blogger.”

Rafael opens his briefcase and shoves in a case file next to his newly shipped copy of _Looking on the Sonny Side_ , angling away from Rita so she can't see. 

“Get with Carmen outside and reschedule, Rita.”

“You do know the majority of his base is preteens girls and soccer moms, right? I have a niece in sixth grade who adores him. Maybe you two can become Facebook friends?”

“ _Goodbye_ , Rita.”

“Do you think you'll get to hold his hand?” Rita bats her eyelashes. 

He walks to the door and calls, “Carmen, could you show Rita the way out of my office? I thinks he might be lost.”

He marches the elevators and ignores the sound of Rita laughing behind him. 

When his Uber drops him off at the Brooks Belle Bookshop signing twenty minutes later there’s already a line forming at the entrance. The scrawled chalk on the sandwich board outside declares **SONNY SIDE UP BOOK SIGNING TODAY! WELCOME #SONNYSIDERS!** Young girls and middle-aged women wearing identical bright yellow #SONNYSIDER4LIFE T-shirts linger outside the brick and mortar wall. Rafael shuffles up in line in his three-piece, bespoke suit (possibly worn for just this occasion, but no one but Carmen and his tailor have to know that) and tries not to feel like a very old, very awkward needle in a highlighter yellow haystack.

There’s lots of things Rafael would do to support _Sonny Side Up_ —pre-order his first official cookbook and be a $500 Patreon, for example—but he would never be caught dear wearing one of those garish shirts.

A woman in said garish shirt smiles at him and rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Teenagers, right?” She chuckles. “They love their Sonny.”

Rafael clear his throat and adjusts the grip on his briefcase. “Uh, yep. They certainly do.”

“How old is yours?”

Before he can explain to her that he didn’t come with a daughter, that he’s just a forty-six-year-Assistant District attorney with 401k and a crush on a YouTube star ten years his junior, the shop doors open and everyone’s attention swivels to the pimple-faced teenager at the door. There’s at least sixteen people in front of him getting dolled out wristbands for the signing and live cooking session. The crowd buzzes with excitement as they’re slowly fed in, everyone hoping they’re in the lucky twenty-five that gets to sit in on the live taping of _Sonny Side Up_ happening inside. Rafael himself can’t deny the pounding of his heart as he’s fitted with an equally hideous highlighter yellow wristband. 

The bookshop is surprisingly large on the inside. There’s a section in the middle of the foyer with a large table and mock kitchen set-up in front of three rows of chairs. Rafael takes a seat at the end of second row with his briefcase at his feet. As a group of giggling teenage girls start filing in the seats around him Rafael grabs his mint copy of _Looking on the Sonny Side_ and flips through pages he’s already committed to memory just to have something to do. 

He’s almost certain he’s going to die the longer the gaggle of teen girls giggle about how cute Sonny is when the crowd starts to cheer. The crowd collectively stands up in their seats and start to cheer, and Rafael knows from the frenzied screams that Sonny’s in the building.

He zeroes in on him the moment Sonny steps into the foyer. He's a full head above all the teens and most of the parents, but it’s the edges of that pink megawatt smile that’s been ingrained in Rafael’s minds that really commands his attention. For a brief, outrageous second his is breath gets caught in his throat as if that smile was meant just for him.

Sonny sets up behind the counter and waves. “Oh, wow, look at this crowd! Hey, SonnySiders!”

The crowd goes wild again. Someone bumps him from behind at the same time the woman next to him screams in his ear. Before he has a chance to be annoyed by the ham-handed Suburban mom blocking most of his view he hears Sonny laugh and everything fades seamlessly into the background, shades of grey surrounding the bright, pastel yellows and blues of Sonny Carisi. 

He sits through the live cooking and Q&A session with his fingers twisted tight over his copy of _Looking on the Sonny Side_ for dear life. It's amazing to watch him in action, movements fluid and so close, that not even the gasps and giggles and embarrassing questions asked by the audience dampens his mood. He listens to the snappy lilt of that Staten Island drawl and can't clamp down on the instinctive smile it elicits out of him. 

Sonny looks up into the crowd and smiles, and for a brief terrifying, wonderful moment Rafael is sure they lock eyes. He gives a brief wave before going back to whipping crème and margarine. 

Rafael's copy is going to be sweaty and mangled from anxious fingers before he even gets Sonny to sign it.

After the session ends and Sonny offers the homemade Rice Krispies to a mom in the second row the lineup for the signing starts. Rafael slowly but firmly pushes his way to the signing line, earning some dirty looks from preteens and guardians alike. They hardly matter since Sonny is there, _right there_ , and Rafael is going to be face to face with him after seven months of staring at him through a screen over Chinese takeout and witness statements. 

He watches, neck craned and foot tapping anxiously, as Sonny chats up fans as he signs and takes pictures. Rafael watches him as he’s done a million times before, but with clarity and closeness never afforded before. Here in the soft light of an early morning he can make out laugh lines and faint, white scars makeup and flattering studio lighting of the _Sonny Side Up_ set hides. The slight crook to his nose. 

The line inches by aching slow as everyone tries to milk their time with Sonny. Rafael checks his watch and groans. At this point there’s no justifying this as a ‘long lunch.’ He just hopes Carmen is crafty enough to spring an excuse that isn’t just _’My boss is hopelessly in love with a YouTube celebrity he’s never met. I hope you understand’_.

After what feels like a small eternity he finally makes his way to the front of the line. A crying young girl scurries off with her book in hand, and then he’s is next. Sonny looks up at him and smiles, warm and inviting, and Rafael has to force his legs to move even though all they seemingly want to do is collapse underneath him like some harlequin novel cliche. He has to remind himself that Sonny probably looks at _everyone_ like that, and isn’t that something? For Rafael to be made to feel special with one look over those bright blue eyes and that pink smile? 

“Hey there,” Sonny says, fingers twirling a marker like he can’t stay still.

Rafael tears his eyes away from those hands before he can embarrass himself, only to choke at being pinned with the full force of Sonny’s intent gaze. 

“Hi,” he manages to force out. Then, clearing his throat, “Hello. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been a fan for… not a _while_ , per se, but long enough, I think. But I’ve seen all your videos. You might not remember, but you once liked a picture of the Bacon Risotto I made using recipe. My mother still maintains that it’s the only thing I’ve ever made that was edible.”

With a growing horror he realizes he’s rambling. Even worse is that Sonny looks amused.

“You’re a fan?” Sonny asks. Rafael nods. “Oh, gosh, I had no idea. I assumed you were getting a book signed for a friend or something. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! You just don’t look like my regular fan base.”

Rafael looks around at the crowd. “You don't say.”

Sonny laughs and the ball of tension that’s been lodged between Rafael’s shoulders since last week loosens just a bit.

“Yeah, well. I’m glad to have you as a fan.” 

It’s just a line, it _has_ to be just a line, but Rafael’s heart doesn’t quite get the memo.

The corner of Sonny’s lip twitches upwards as he glances down at the book in Rafael’s hands. “You want me to sign that?”  
“Oh! Ugh, duh, of course. That’s what I’ve been standing in line for an hour for.” He all but shoves the book into his hands. 

Sonny poises his marker as he looks back up at Rafael between eyelashes much too long for a man. “Who am I making this out to?”

“Rafael. Rafael Barba.” At least he remembers his own name. Small miracles.

Sonny writes his name in a large, looping scrawl that Rafael follows meticulously with his eyes. Underneath his name he scribbles a message too sloppy to read upside down.

“So, Rafael Barba,” Sonny starts conversationally, not looking up from the page, “if you don’t mind me asking, what do you do? Most of my fans don’t own three-piece suits.”

He flirts with the idea of lying, like _not_ being an Assistant District Attorney would make this less embarrassing. “I’m a Manhattan ADA.”

That gets Sonny to look up from message that now takes up most of the inside of cover. His eyes light up and he bounces out of his seat, a ball off energy compacted in gangly limbs and pink smiles.

“You’re a lawyer? That’s so cool! You know, I thought about being a lawyer once, before the show.”

Rafael didn’t know that actually. Of all the little glimpses into his life Sonny has shared across his videos that’s one that’s never been shown. There’s a thrill in learning something new about Sonny, something private in their own little bubble surrounded by a few dozen adoring fans. It feels intimate, as silly as it sounds.

He gives him a half smile. “Trust me, you’ve made a much better life decision.”

“Tell that to my Ma,” he jokes.

“I think my mother would prefer it if I was a chef instead of an attorney.”

Sonny scoffs in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Rafael ponders the thought. “Well, maybe not. She'd probably miss the bragging rights she holds at her bridge club, but she does think being a lawyer has made me colder. Honestly? Maybe it has. Chefs like you are the opposite. Chefs are warm, open. Maybe not Gordon Ramsay, but…”

“Yeah?” Sonny asks, voice soft. “You really think so?”

“You think this many people would show up to get a signature and picture from a lawyer?”

Sonny laughs again, proving Rafael right as warmth floods him from his fingers to his toes.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Are you ready to take your selfie with Sonny?” A stocky man with a camera around his neck asks, which Rafael takes as the subtle nudging it is. He nods and allows himself to be pulled behind the table to where Sonny is now standing. Sonny loops a long arm around his shoulders and squeezes his arm reassuringly. He smells like cinnamon and olive oil and Rafael is sure he could get lost in the warmth radiating off of him. 

The cameraman positions his camera. “Could you hold the book up a little higher? Thanks. Now say ‘SonnySider for life!’”

Rafael doesn’t, but Sonny’s smile and wink tells him that he doesn’t mind. 

He gathers up his book and shoves it in his briefcase with a grin that he can’t seem to erase. The next person in line is all but in hysterics already so Rafael is dying to beat a hasty exit. 

“Wait!”

Startled, he turns around to see Sonny smiling sheepishly, pen still fiddling restlessly between his fingers.

“You were one of the first 30 people in, right? Well, you're eligible to sign up for a giveaway thingy we're doing, y’know, come on the _Sonny Side_ set and cook with me. If you're interested you should get m with Bella at the door. You… you should apply.”

There’s rush of emotion he feels at all once: surprise, panic, disbelief, elation, then back to disbelief. It would be so easy to believe that there's meaning to that request; that Sonny wants him specifically, that maybe those smiles really were just for him. That maybe he is something special in Sonny’s eyes, the way Sonny is special in his. 

Or maybe he's just being a fool. 

Either way he smirks and feigns casual disinterest he definitely does not feel when he says, “Maybe I will.”

— — — — —

Rafael has pinched himself no less than four times now to make sure he isn't actually dreaming. After hours spent agonizing over what to wear to dinner with Sonny (with _Sonny_!), he'd finally settled on something vaguely resembling casual: a blue checkered shirt, a wool jacket he hasn't worn in over a year but admittedly suits him nicely, and a pair of jeans that he thinks successfully accentuates his best assets. His text alerts have been buzzing all afternoon with unsolicited advice from Liv and Carmen, with a bonus request from his mother to recommend one of her recipes for Sonny to feature on his show.

As if all of that hasn't been overwhelming enough, Rafael had received a private message via Instagram from Sonny himself earlier in the afternoon. The message had been short and sweet, simple--

_Hey, just wanted to say I'm looking forward to meeting with you tonight :) I'm glad it was you!_

\--but that hadn't stopped Rafael from spending far too much time analyzing it. Could the smiley face be indicating a flirtatious tone? Would Sonny have sent that to anyone who might've won? Is Sonny really just that sweet and thoughtful? Could it really be true that Sonny's glad Rafael had been the one to win? It doesn't help that the answer to every single one of those questions is a potential yes.

"Stop being an idiot."

This is the mantra he's developed over the course of the final forty-five minutes before leaving his apartment to go meet Sonny for dinner, and he's said it out loud to himself in the mirror more than once now. They're due to meet at the studio where _Sonny Side Up_ is filmed, and Rafael has absolutely no idea where the hell this is going to go from there. He tries on a tie then loses it, gels his hair one way then the other, wipes his palms on his jeans over and over until it's finally time to catch the Uber he'd called downstairs.

It's ridiculous, how much he feels like a kid going to his first high school dance with a date so very much out of his league. That's an experience Rafael very vividly remembers, walking into the gym at fifteen with Yelina's arm looped through his own. Even then, she'd been so beautiful, and he'd been the envy of all his classmates that night. Now, he'll be the envy of half a million teenage girls. Rafael wrinkles his nose at the thought then banishes it from his mind, picturing instead Sonny's bright, blue eyes and those deep dimples and the wave of blond hair and that infectious laugh and the way those hands curl around--

"Hey, man, _we're here_."

Startling out of his mental photo album, Rafael quickly apologizes to the driver and exits the Uber, stopping short when he spots Sonny standing just outside the door to the studio. 

There it is, right when Sonny spots him: the smile, the dimples. No man should be allowed to look that good in a denim button-up and yet, there Sonny Carisi stands with his sleeves rolled up just past his elbows and his cheeks pink from the slight drop in the evening's temperature. Rafael's sure he feels his heart stutter in his chest, but he hates that he lets it. This isn't a date, he has to remind himself, and anyway, he shouldn't let himself turn to putty over a YouTube celebrity. Besides, Sonny isn't here because he wants to be and whether or not he's glad Rafael had been the winner is irrelevant. Why _wouldn't_ he be relieved to have gotten out of sharing a meal with a fourteen-year-old and their guardian?

"Rafael!"

 _God_ , even his own name sounds smooth coming from Sonny's lips, and Rafael nearly melts into the ground right then and there before he forces himself to straighten his posture and reach to straighten a tie that isn't there.

"Hi," he says, letting his hand drop back down to his side before awkwardly bringing it back up for an untimely wave. "I got your message on the Instagram."

Pathetic.

"Oh," Sonny says, letting slip a short laugh as he moves to close the gap between them, stopping just a couple inches away from where Rafael. He rocks on his feet with his hands tucked in his pockets, shrugging. "Wasn't sure if you did, you didn't reply. I was worried you thought I was creepy for looking you up."

Rafael shakes his head a little too aggressively. "No!" He pauses, clearing his throat. "No, not at all. I mean, I watch you on YouTube every week and like every single one of your posts. That's much creepier."

The corners of Sonny's mouth twitch upward, but he's kind enough not to comment further. "Right, well, we should head upstairs. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"Oh, is this being filmed for the show?"

"No, actually,"' Sonny says, now shifting from one foot to the other and lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck with a sheepish smile that somehow makes him look about ten years younger. "We were supposed to get dinner at a restaurant, we had a couple picked out depending on the winner, but when I found out it was you..." He trails off for a moment, looking quizzically at Rafael before breaking the gaze. "I don't know, I just thought it'd be better if I cooked for you instead. If you'd rather go somewhere--"

"No," Rafael interrupts, his cheeks already burning by how quickly and much too eagerly he'd just interjected. Aiming for a casual tone he's fairly certain he doesn't quite achieve, he continues, "This is fine. This is perfect."

"Perfect," Sonny echoes. If his gaze lingers on Rafael's eyes, then briefly flickers down to Rafael's lips, neither of them acknowledge it out loud. He hesitates just long enough for it be noticeable before reaching out to press a hand against the small of Rafael's back, gently guiding him toward the door. "Um, so I'm sorry it's not a better setting, I just thought it'd be weird to invite you over to my place for our first dinner together."

Their first. 

Rafael's head is spinning a little as he follows Sonny up the stairs, the place on his back still warm from where Sonny had rested his hand, and he wishes they were standing still so he could at least not have to worry about tumbling down a flight of stairs while trying to unpack what that means. 

_Their first._

That implies Sonny wants a second, maybe a third and even a fourth, but how is that even possible when all Sonny knows about him is that Rafael is a fan? One interaction at a book signing couldn't spark real interest. Could it? Of course not. Rafael had learned a long time ago that if something appears too good to be true, it almost always is. He resolves to keep that in mind now, to remember that at the end of the day, this is an obligation for Sonny. Rafael had won this dinner by luck of the draw, that's it. That's the bottom line.

"So I hope you like pasta," Sonny says, glancing at Rafael over his shoulder, "and I hope you don't mind working for it a little. I was thinking we could make it together, you know? Give you a little cooking lesson. It won't be that hard, I promise, it's a French version of a carbonara."

"You're cross-contaminating?" Rafael teases.

" _Fusing_ ," Sonny corrects. His laugh helps to ease the tension that's built up in Rafael's shoulders, even if just a little bit. "It'll be great. I'll give you credit when I post it up on Instagram. You'll take a picture with me, right?"

"Ah," Rafael says, nodding with resigned understanding, "you've got to promote the results of the contest somehow, right?"

Sonny freezes just as he's about to take a step through the threshold of the studio, fixing Rafael with a mildly wounded look. He recovers well with a crooked, boyish smile. "No. Just want to show off my hot date, that's all."

Rafael lifts a brow but smirks, rolling his eyes for good measure. "I can see why you're in the entertainment business. Does that line work with everyone?"

"You tell me," Sonny says, "you're the first person I've tried it on."

It's something of a miracle that Rafael makes it through the next half hour without incident. After gathering all the necessary ingredients for their carbonara, they set to work. Rather, Sonny works as he narrates what he's doing for Rafael's benefit. As promised, no cameras are rolling and they're the only two on the set, with the overhead lights dimmed down and music from Sonny's iPhone playing softly in the background. They're listening to an oldies rock station, which Rafael finds oddly endearing, and it isn't until they get to the necessity for cheese that he runs into a roadblock.

Truly, he will never look at cheese the same way again.

"Do me a favor?" Sonny asks, nodding toward the block of Parmesan beside the bowl of crème fraîche Rafael had helpfully whipped earlier. Rafael actively has to restrain himself from reaching out to wipe away the trace of flour that's been left on his cheek. "Grate this, will ya?"

Rafael narrows his eyes but quietly accepts the challenge, frowning at the grater he holds now in his hand before twisting his wrist to work at the block. It takes almost a full minute before he senses Sonny do a double take at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Whoa, you're going to give yourself carpal tunnel doing it like that," Sonny tells him, grinning as he gently tugs the grater out of Rafael's hand. "Here, I'll show you."

It's completely unnecessary, but Sonny positions himself behind Rafael so he can properly place the grater back in Rafael's hand, their fists closing over it in tandem. Sonny is speaking words, Rafael's fairly certain of that, but he doesn't hear a damn thing because he can feels puffs of breath on his neck and warm against his back as they move together to _grate cheese_ , of all the damn things. Sonny's skin is softer than Rafael would have expected, not that he's thought about it before, aside from the times he most certainly has. That's the thing though, isn't it? Rafael can't deny he finds Sonny attractive. He'd be laughed out of a room by the people closest to him if he were ever to try.

But this is the second time they've met and the only thing Sonny really knows about him is that he's an ADA who doesn't fit into _Sonny Side Up_ 's typical viewer group. 

"I think I've got it," Rafael says softly, almost regretfully. It's for the best, even if it doesn't feel that way when Sonny lets go of him, quickly, like he's been burned.

"Sorry," Sonny says, frowning as he returns to his space at the counter where he's been slicing chives. "Sorry. Hey, listen, I have a nice Chablis I brought from home that pairs nicely with this. I don't know if you drink, but--"

"I'll take a glass." God knows Rafael needs one. The back of his neck is still flushed, and he's chastising himself for letting Sonny affect him like this when there's absolutely no basis for it. There's just something about this entire scenario that makes him feel like he's in some kind of cheesy ( _cheese_ , he'll never be the same again) romantic comedy where the object of his affection is someone extremely unattainable. If he'd known just being here would be _this_ stressful, Rafael would have declined the prize altogether.

No, that's not true. He never would've passed this up.

One glass of Chablis turns into four by the time dinner's over. Sonny had been right, the carbona had turned out incredible, which doesn't come as much of a surprise. In Sonny's hands, Rafael imagines nothing could really go all too wrong. _That_ stray thought sends an unwelcome shiver down his spine. 

"I'm going to make it weird," Sonny says, breaking the comfortable silence they'd fallen into after stuffing themselves full of pasta with a soft and bashful laugh. His cheeks are tinted pink, and Rafael resists the urge to reach out to feel the warmth he knows he'd find there. "Do you think you'd maybe want to come back to my place?"

Rafael blinks, not sure he's fully comprehended the question through his tipsy haze. "I'm sorry, what?"

"No, I don't-- I mean, I'm not trying to-- wow, I'm really bad at this, can you tell? It's just that I've got more wine there, and I'm having a great time with you and okay, the wine comment makes it sound like I'm trying to get you drunk at my apartment, which is super creepy in retrospect. You're an ADA for sex crimes, I swear I wasn't trying to--"

Rafael snorts, pressing a finger against Sonny's lips without sparing a second, sober thought. "Might want to take the fifth right about now."

He watches Sonny swallows, watches the movement of Sonny's throat, doesn't do anything to stop him when Sonny gently pulls Rafael's hand away and laces their fingers. There's a heat deep in Rafael's belly, one that he both wants to fuel and diffuse, but Sonny's eyes are so blue and so intense and the way Sonny's tongue flicks over his lips is so agonizingly tempting that Rafael can't help but indulge himself in this moment. 

There's only a few inches of space between them but Rafael takes care of that, leaning forward to press his lips against Sonny's. Any fear he might have had that the kiss would fizzle, that there'd be no spark, that it'd turn out there's nothing between them at all, is completely erased when Sonny cups a hand around the back of Rafael's neck to pull him closer. It takes them just a few seconds to find their stride, for Rafael to part his lips to allow Sonny's tongue into his mouth. It pleases him to find that seem to so easily fall in sync, their movements mirroring each other's to near perfection. What finally forces them apart is the moan that escapes Rafael, followed by the immediate need they both have to catch a breath.

"Wow," Sonny says, huffing a laugh. He traces the curve of Rafael's brow then lets his fingertips follow the curve of Rafael's jawline. What he doesn't know, what he can't possibly realize, is how taken aback Rafael is that someone would look at him like Sonny is now. "I didn't plan this. I swear. I don't want you to think I did."

"I didn't until right now," Rafael says, playfully flicking Sonny's shoulder. One hand travels down the length of Sonny's arm, over a bicep and rolled up sleeve onto warm, soft skin. "I’m surprised, I guess. A little confused.”

"I know. I get it.” Sonny bites down on his lip. Rafael finds himself wanting to do the very same thing. "Sometimes you just get a feeling. You know? About things, about people."

"And you have a feeling about me?" Rafael grins. “Does that line work on everyone?”

"I have _several_ feelings about you. I'm pretty sure at least one of them is embarrassingly obvious right now. And don’t judge me, it’s been a long time since I’ve flirted with anyone, okay? I don’t meet a lot of people like you when I’m trying to navigate my way through a crowd of people more than half my age.”

Rafael barks a laugh at that, ducking his head to hide how pleased he is until Sonny tilts his chin back up so their eyes can meet again. 

"Come back to my place," Sonny says, his tone growing softer. "We don't have to drink more, we don't have to do anything. We can talk. We can even sit there and watch bad TV. I just know I'm not ready for my night with you to end.”

Rafael had learned a long time ago that if something appears too good to be true, it almost always is. Now, carefully studying Sonny's earnest expression, he makes a choice. Reckless abandon though it may be, he makes a choice. 

"So let's make it last," he says, gently combing his fingers through newly disheveled blond hair. "Let's make it count."

“You’ve already made it count,” Sonny tells him. He grazes his lips over Rafael’s temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. “Anything else is just going to be icing on the cake.”


End file.
